I should've been here hours ago. After a string of delays, cancellations, and turbulence, I finally made it to Los Angeles. I spent more time in the airport than I did in the air. Not to mention the screaming baby, disgruntled passengers, and the pilot working around a number of thunderstorms. It was like the universe was trying to warn me. Stop. Turn around. It's over.
And if that weren't enough, the airport lost my luggage.
I breathed in the fresh air and collapsed on a nearby bench. It was going to take a lot more than deep breathing to calm my nerves.
This would be my tenth call. Wren wouldn't even answer my texts. I could recite his voicemail word from word, even the cheesy laugh at the end. I watched travelers flock to hotel shuttles and rideshares. How nice would it have been if I'd planned this through or had money? I accidentally packed my card with my lost luggage.
A man built like a rock sat beside me. He took up half the seat, sporting his shaved head, goatee, and tattoos. As I slowly worked myself up to panic, he pulled out his phone, and Wren's face popped up on his screen.
"We're sitting down with the new up-and-coming pop-star, Wren Wade." A woman dressed in white sat across from him. She leaned back into the lavish chair with notecards in her hands.
Wren arched forward, rattling his ring studded fingers on his knee.
I pushed myself into the man's side, and he went rigid. I would've moved, but my eyes were glued to his phone. Wren looked so different. He gelled his hair back, wore eyeliner, and his tattoos were on full display. He even replenished his newly infamous neon green polish.
"So, you were just signed to Vinyl on Stereo. They've made some pretty legendary albums in the past. What can we expect from yours?" the interviewer asked.
I leaned in closer. I wanted to hear him speak. Maybe I'd entered an alternate universe. Maybe this wasn't Wren.
His laugh didn't reach his eyes. As his mouth bobbed in thought, he looked over her shoulder. A moment later, he answered, "It's about a girl."
The tattooed man tilted his phone towards me. At this angle, I could see the dark circles under Wren's eyes. And how he shifted his weight as if he couldn't get comfortable.
A light giggle erupted from the interviewer. She hovered the notecards over her lip as if sharing a secret. "So you're in love?"
"No." He said it instantly. No thought or hesitation needed. "I was. But it's over now."
"So it's a breakup album?"
"Yeah. I hear they're super inspiring."
I said that when we first met. I just never thought he'd end up testing the theory or I'd be the reason for it.
The camera panned over the interviewer's face and she leaned in. "So, that means you're single?"
"Yes. Definitely." He ended the interview with a wink and the screen faded to black.
What did I expect? I'd never seen Wren so angry before that day. We said things I wasn't sure we could come back from. Maybe he was right to leave, and I was wrong to chase him. I made a joke out of his feelings and abandoned him when we needed each other the most. This wasn't a situation I could fix with an apology. The damage was irreparable.
The man cleared his throat, and I leaped away from him. "He talkin' about you or something?" he asked.
When I didn't answer, he pushed his phone into his pocket. "First rule of show biz, never trust an interview. Poor kid's probably saying all that because his manager told him to. If fans think they can sleep with you, they go nuts for anything you do." He picked up his luggage when his shuttle arrived. "Second rule, if you're crazy enough to come here, don't leave without giving it a shot."
Right. I was here now. There was no point in going home, but I was being naïve. Wren didn't have to take me back, and I shouldn't expect him to. After everything he did for me and everything we'd been through, I still needed to apologize. I was scared, but that wasn't good enough. He deserved to be chased.
So, I needed to think of every option available. Not give up after one try.
Uncle Ronnie picked up after the second ring. I should've thought about this hours ago. He said Wren wasn't doing too well. He left the boy he saw on stage and the musician who wrote those songs in Elk Rose. He wasn't himself.
He made Wren take the rest of the day off to find inspiration. I knew he was still out looking for it, but I didn't know enough about the area to figure out where he would look.
"I told him to go to the skate park," Uncle Ronnie said.
"Wren doesn't skate."
"Don't all white boys in L.A. skate?"
I rolled my eyes. He managed him. He should know just as much as I knew about him. "Wren's more of a walk in the park until inspiration strikes kinda guy."
"Well..." He drew the word out until the phone went silent.
"I have many talents. Mind reading isn't one of them."
"Check the park," he shouted.
He said it like it was an easy feat. There were a thousand parks in Los Angeles. With my limited money, I couldn't afford to park hop all through town to find him. I wasn't even sure if that's where he'd go, but it sounded more like him than a skate park. It was my only option.
I pulled out my phone and searched top ten lists. I would've settled for Griffith Park, but Wren would take an ax to the face before he'd hike anywhere.
After a herd of mind-numbing, repetitive reviews, I settled for Grand Park. It's where I'd go if I were him. Just enough people to not feel lonely. A mixture of excitement from tourists and the relaxation of locals. Great scenery and the home of many performances and shows. You could smell the inspiration in the air. At least, that's what one reviewer said.
The only problem? Because, of course, there always was. It closed in less than an hour.
I had no problem finding a ride, but it took longer to get there than I thought. By the time he pulled onto the side, I had fifteen minutes.
I booked it down the steps. Orange and pink flags waved alongside palm trees as the night air whistled. Families trotted back to the street, blocking my pursuit. What if he already left? What if he wasn't even here?
I pushed myself to the bottom of the steps. Pressing into the railing, I got a full view of the lower level. I watched the fountain diminished in size. As kids shuffled to their parents, the grounds cleared.
There he was. Hovering over a pink table. He scribbled on his notebook, unaware the park was closing.
I sprinted to the steps, weaving around the crowd. A flirtatious, middle-aged man overtook my steps. Every time I bobbed, he weaved.
"We gotta stop dancing like this," he winked.
"Move." I shoved him out the way and catapulted to the last level.
As the last few patrons departed from the fountain, I ran through it. I had too much power and launched right into the table. I was a panting mess, but I found him. And now that I had, I didn't know what to say.
"N-Nora?" He jumped out of his seat.
I planned my speech hours ago. I was supposed to rush to his hotel door, dramatically walk in with a bouquet of roses. I'd throw them to the ground and confess how much of an idiot I'd been. He laughed, say something witty and we'd apologize, then kiss. The sun was supposed to be shining, I was supposed to be in a different outfit, and I was supposed to feel confident. Not like this.
"...hi." I didn't know where to start. "Um—"
Before I could force out an apology, he yanked me forward. Wrapping me in his arms, I soaked into his skin. For a moment, it felt like a dream. His heartbeat was almost audible as I slid my hands up his spine. I couldn't describe the feeling. It was like being in the middle of a storm and finding a place to hide. He felt like home.
"I missed you so much," he said.
I bawled into his shoulder. I was convinced I messed everything up. He was so good to me, and I pushed him away. I thought he'd never forgive me. "I'm sorry, Wren. I didn't mean what I said. Any of it."
He dragged his fingers over my cheeks, catching each tear before it fell. "No, I'm sorry. I can't believe I said all that crap to you. I was just mad because you didn't call, and I was nervous about coming here—"
"I'm sorry, I didn't contact you. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know if you wanted to continue things."
"I was just scared," we said at the same time.
We broke into an even laugh and he drummed his fingers into my hair. "You came all the way here? For how long?"
"I don't know. I did a one way. I just hoped you'd take me back."
He pulled me close, resting his forehead on mine. I loved when he did that.
"You're kinda into me, huh?"
"I think you're very strong." I needed to get this out. The last thing I wanted was for him to think his mental health was a joke to me. I wanted him to know I believed in him. "I have no idea how hard it was for you to trust yourself enough to get out of that toxic environment. I know it's still difficult for you, but you wake up every day and live for yourself. And I will never stop being proud of you."
"Thank you." Tears dropped from his eyes. "And I'm sorry for making the last month about me. I'll never know what it's like to have to fight to be acknowledged and to have people think you're asking for too much. I want you to feel safe enough to bring that stuff to me and know I'll support you."
I kissed him. I've never been in love before, but I knew I'd never love anyone as much as him. Before him, I didn't think it was possible to love someone other than my family. And to receive that love back felt like a privilege everyone should have. We fit perfectly sound in each other's minds.
He pulled away and took my hand. "Let's get you out of here."
After a quick walk through downtown L.A, we finally made it to his hotel.
His suite was spacious. Plush, red carpet, crystal detailing on the walls, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. Curtains wrapped around one corner of the room, and I envisioned how the city looked from up here. A flat-screen TV stood in front of the window and his bed was perched up on a platform. He even had enough space for a kitchenette and breakfast bar. This record label really took care of him.
Loose paper covered everything from the table to the hallway. His guitar was strung out in the middle of the floor and a pile of notebooks cluttered the coffee table.
I picked up a crumpled piece of paper and opened it.
"Sorry. It's a mess in here." Before I could read it, he snatched it out of my hand and chucked it into the trash. "Don't even think about cleaning up. I can do it."
"Speaking of music. How's that going?"
"Terrible," he sighed. "I can't find inspiration. Everything I write is garbage." He fell onto the sofa and flipped through his notebook. Apart from a few lines, it didn't seem like he had much luck with it.
I waved my hands up and down my frame. "Is that any way to talk in the presence of your muse?"
He parted from the sofa and slithered over to me. Leaving a trail of kisses on my neck, he nestled into my embrace. "I can think of a few ways you can help."
"Can I go to practice with you tomorrow?" I wasn't even sure he was listening to me anymore. He was trying to distract me, and it was working.
"Nah." He kissed me again. "It's boring. You'd have much more fun here."
I wanted to know what changed. Why did he suddenly want to come out to L.A. and do this professionally? I wondered if he was here because he wanted to be or because he felt like he had to be.
But he clearly didn't want to be analyzed tonight. And that became more apparent when he shimmed into bed. Beckoning me in, he opened his arms and pouted.
I guess I could shut my mind off for one night.
🌻Full playlist?
Just type in "Smelling Roses" in Spotify.
Author Note: I know it's cliche and cheesy. I've tried to change it a few times, but I just couldn't. Nothing gets me going like a classic rush to another state to make up after a bad fight, just to say sorry.
Reference:
....literally all of them.